After All - Part Nine

Chapter Nine

Dinner and champagne had done little to lift either his bad mood or his hangover, but Patrick was very good company and he was slowly easing the pain of the previous day. Dylan didn’t want to move from the beautiful restaurant with the amazing view at the Shard to the boat party, but Patrick was like a child at the thought of glamour, frivolity and freebies. So Dylan, as usual had bitten the bullet and followed his lead. The upper deck was heaving, full of young and very beautiful people dancing, the influential and often not quite so beautiful circulated at the fringe and it reminded him just how seedy life could be.

                “There are a couple of lower decks,” Patrick had offered sensing Dylan’s lethargy at the place and situation. “Might be a little quieter.”

Dylan groaned, “you’re not going to let me get out of here before the early hours, so get on with it, get me a drink.”

Laughing Patrick led him into the lower bar.

                “Mojito or Margarita?” Patrick asked, and Dylan glanced at the bar for a moment, rathering beer to anything else on offer.

                “I’ll take a Bud,” he replied as he glanced at the barmaid...then froze. For a split second.

If he doubted who he was seeing in front of him, then her flush of embarrassment confirmed, that despite the red hair, the brown eyes - he had no idea how she managed to look so different, but there was no hiding from the fact that moonlighting as a barmaid in this hospitality bar was Matilda, his high achieving, business analyst ex-wife. Serving cocktails...

Patrick was oblivious to the tension as she opened the bottle of beer for him, her companion behind the bar was making his friend a Sex on the Beach, which was making Patrick giggle like a fourteen year old boy instead of the almost forty year old he was. When Matilda’s eyes finally lifted to his, met the stare he knew she could feel on her, he gave his head a little shake, it was both of disproval and a conspiracy that he wouldn’t out her, not here, not now.

Instead he backed away to lean against a window sill, the view of light-lit London behind him, but the only thing he was concentrating on was the woman who was struggling to function in his gaze.

As he watched her, sipping on his beer, he was aware of Patrick chatting to two young ladies across the room, but he wasn’t interested. Matilda. Why was she doing this? Helping someone out? Was this a business venture? Suddenly he needed to know.

The man who was behind the bar with her was protective of her, he could see that in his gestures, the way he spoke to her, so Dylan waited patiently, he was good at that. Finally the man disappeared somewhere, he didn’t know nor care where, instead he strode across to the bar.

                “Another beer please, and an explanation as to what the HELL you are doing here.”

Mattie had been on tenterhooks since he’d walked into the bar, as he’d approached, finally, she felt relief; the distance across the room was no real barrier, if anything she felt more exposed, more vulnerable as he stared at her. But now that he was in front of her, she felt sick, and then he opened his mouth.

                “Dylan Wallace, you are NOTHING to me. You hear me?” She snapped open a beer and slid it in front of him, “so get over yourself.”

As she turned away, his hand reached out and grabbed her wrist, forcing her to turn back to him.

                “You think that? Really? I’ve been trying to suss out what’s happening here since I got here. You are stood here, in disguise, incognito. That means that this isn’t legit. You are up to no good. And I want to know why.”

She gave a quick nod of disgust, “what I do has NOTHING to do with you!”

That caused him to lift an eyebrow, study her for a moment, “you sure about that?”  When she didn’t answer he drank a mouthful of beer. “Whatever you’re up to, it’s going to get you into trouble. You might not think it, but I care about what happens to you.”

She laughed out loud, “YOU? Yeah right! I work here for cash so that I can afford to live because fifty percent of my salary goes into paying off YOUR debt. So don’t stand there in your Saville Row bespoke suit and tell me that you are worried about me, that you care about me, because that boat sailed many a year ago.”

Mattie was never so glad as when she turned to see some patrons further along the bar, it gave her the chance to escape at a very timely moment. And by the look on his face, Dylan was furious at that chance.

                “What’s with the moody bastard over there?” Half an hour Andy nodded in the direction of Dylan and nudged her.

She shrugged as she shook a cocktail shaker full of what was about to become a Mojito. “Probably got stood up...or dumped...or maybe he’s impotent?” That made her laugh, and Andy looked at her with wide eyes.

                “You feeling evil tonight?”

Laughing she tipped the contents of the shaker into a glass of ice and mint, “nope, can just spot a loser from fifty metres.” Now! She almost added, eight years too late.

                “Two hours to go.” He grinned, “then as much sausage, bacon and fried egg that you can stomach.”

Her stomach lurched at the thought, whilst she wasn’t hungry at the moment, she knew in a few hours once she’d got the smell of beer out of her nostrils she’d change her mind.

It was hard working under the scrutiny of Dylan, who was looking increasingly more angry, uncomfortable, flushed. He’d been served by Andy a couple of times, but avoided her as much as she was avoiding him, not that he seemed to want to do anything but stare at her. The man she realised he was with, she recognised him as Dylan’s golf partner from earlier in the week, had struck lucky with a young busty blonde, and the two were rather obscenely exchanging saliva in the corner of the now busy room. That only seemed to incense Dylan further.

Once the bar was closed, people still danced and talked, there had been some presentation on the top deck, but most on her level weren’t interested. They were there for the free food and drink.

                “Let’s get cleaned up as quick as we can, then we’ll get out of here,” Andy called across as the manager cashed up the till.

She nodded, cleaning the counters as he stored the bottles and remaining beers into the lockable cooler behind them. They worked well as a team.

                “I’ll just take these down to the cellar.” Andy indicated to three crates at the top of the staircase that led down to the large lower level store room.

                “I’ll empty all the bins, then we’re done.”

Andy grinned, “cool. I’ll find whoever that manager was and get our wages.”

She watched him disappear, then walked around the edge of the bar into the room with a huge refuse sack then proceeded to empty all the bins into it.

                “I can’t believe you’re doing this!”

A voice hissed from her left, she didn’t need to look up to know who it was. “Dylan please.”

That made him laugh and her head snapped up to glare at him, “LEAVE it!”

                “No.” He stepped towards her, “I want to talk to you. I get that here...you’re someone else. I’m not about to shop you...but I want to talk to you...explain.”

Exasperated she shook her head, “you seem to think that I give a shit. You’re wrong I don’t. Ok. You are a work associate for the next few weeks...at worst months, after that, we go back to being strangers. Why complicate this?”

                “Because I’m not that man.”

She sighed, “I’m not interested in what you are or aren’t. You WERE my husband, you DID leave me in a hole. But now we are nothing to each other. So let it go, think nice thoughts, enjoy your wealth and your free food and drink. Ok?”

She spotted his hesitation and used that moment to slink off into the distance, glad when she spotted Andy in the distance waving a wad of cash.

Introspection wasn’t the best accompaniment to a second hangover. Dylan had never been more glad to get back to the hotel and work. Sunday evening alone in a suite of rooms that faced out into torrential rain wasn’t so great a place in reality. It did however spur him into concluding his report for Paul Simmonds. The older man had sounded terrified when they talked about what he wanted Dylan to achieve, but when he got hold of the older man Sunday evening, he sounded disinterested and preoccupied.

At nine am, he was sat in the boardroom attached to Matilda’s office waiting for everyone to arrive. He’d told the reception staff that he was calling a meeting, and emailed all the staff. But no one else was there.

Just as he was about to stand, storm to reception huffing and puffing, the door flew open and a rather flushed Matilda spilled in, and she froze when she spotted him sat inside her domain.

                “Dylan what are you doing here?”

He was staring at her; she was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, one that he remembered buying for her on their honeymoon...two blissful weeks in Miami.

He shook his head to clear the memories, “I called a meeting, I emailed everyone...”

                “First Monday of the month we always have a breakfast meeting in the Garden Restaurant, nine thirty sharp. You’re invited...” With that she passed him in long strides, disappearing through a door at the far end of the office space.

                “Good morning!”

Dylan watched in disbelief as Matilda glided into the restaurant. Six others plus him were sat at a large table, coffee and a variety of breakfast items spread out in front of them. All six smiled up at her with an almost godlike appreciation. If only they knew.

                “Did you have a nice weekend Mattie?” Sarah asked as she lowered herself into the chair at the head of the table.

She gave a nod, “brilliant thank you. How was it here?”

All the while she avoided looking at him, and to Dylan it was a sign that she was still bothered by their unexpected encounter, she knew that he could bring all this crashing down around her. Mattie. He hated that name; she was Matilda, always Matilda. But was that because a large reason for her name change was due to his inattentiveness? Instead of challenging anything at that moment, he sat back and waited, he’d take control at some point. They all had to know the outcomes of the discussions with Paul in California. No one would be happy. But that wasn’t his problem. He would be gone in a few weeks. That was his job, and it was almost over.